


instauration

by thishazeleyeddemon



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Developing Friendships, Gen, Loyalty, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Friendship, Sharing a Bed, Trauma, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23063647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishazeleyeddemon/pseuds/thishazeleyeddemon
Summary: INSTAURATION - [noun]. 1. Renewal; restoration; renovation; repair. 2. Obsolete: an act of instituting something; establishment. Etymology: from Latin instaurātiō, from instaurāre, “to renew”.What happened immediately after the scene in the bar,Or,You can't nearly die and watch your friend nearly die without feeling that,Or,It's okay to be hurt and scared.
Relationships: Master Firbolg & Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 16
Kudos: 119





	instauration

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is gay. But like I'm not sure how it's gay? Maplekeene? Fitzroy/Firbolg? All three together? A queerplatonic situation? Just some gay sad friends?
> 
> The answer is yours to decide :)

Fitzroy didn’t remember a lot of what happened after he saw the Enchantment spell hanging around Buckminster, to be honest. They’d talked for a while but all Fitzroy had heard was a dull roaring in his ears, unable to stop staring at Buck’s head where the misty cloud of Enchantment had hovered, at the dazed look in Buck’s eyes.

He remembered a look of concern on Buck’s face, the way it didn’t quite match the expression in his eyes. He remembered a hastily rejected offer to walk him back to the spa, suddenly sure for a reason he couldn’t quite express that he didn’t want Buck to know where he was staying for the night.

That Chain Devil had been summoned for them…

There was no way to tell how long it had been since he’d staggered out of the tavern, drink left half-finished on the counter. Buck had told him that he meant to stay and drink for a little longer – but was that true? He cast a cursory glance around the darkening streets. They were empty. He resisted the urge to cast Detect Magic and look for an Illusion spell – it was too noticeable. Maybe it would be good to not have any followers know they were found.

That Chain Devil had been meant for them.

It was just that he’d never experienced anything like this before.

It all seemed so straightforward, most of the time. Become a knight, gain honor ~~ _, make parents look at him for once._~~ Be a sidekick until he could escape. Be a villain partner to Rainer...and also maybe have his...friends, he could be honest with himself in his own brain, with him too.

But it seemed Higglemas had been right that no one was to trust, and now the world had tilted on its axis.

That Chain Devil had been meant for them.

And then he was in front of the spa. He blinked, looking back down the road. Had he really walked all that way without realizing it? That’s...Okay, he didn’t know as much as Rainer or – _Buck or Leon (where_ _was he what had happened_ what _) –_ knew about stuff like brains, but that didn’t sound like a good sign.

_Of course it wasn’t, that Chain Devil had been meant for them, someone brainwashed his friend, Argo almost died today -_

_-_ he swayed on his feet, suddenly feeling sick. Argo had nearly _died_ today. The Firbolg had been _hurt,_ Argo had nearly died, _he_ had nearly died, he could still feel the ache in his ribs from where the chain had whipped into him, for all that the healers had done a very thorough job -

\- he was distantly aware of the fact that he was starting to shake.

He needed to get off the street. He _knew_ this, it was – _too exposed, too visible, he couldn’t summon Snippers right now –_ embarrassing to be seen having some sort of _meltdown_ in public. But he couldn’t make his feet move. Because Argo had _nearly died,_ and his green-blue blood had coated Fitzroy’s hands as he pressed gauze down into inches-long holes in Argo’s body, and Fitzroy was struck with the sudden yawning certainty that if he went there he’d realize it _hadn’t worked,_ he’d just been deluding himself, but if he didn’t go in then Argo wouldn’t be _dead -_

\- a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Aaah!” he jumped, reaching for his magic without thinking, but it fizzled out immediately at the green eyes and leafy visage of their Firbolg.

Fitzroy was fairly certain that the normal college experience did not have the sight of one’s roommates come with an instant calm. But the Firbolg had that effect on you. Not, like some had guessed, because he was some sort of wise all-knowing forest spirit. It was more like, if you weren’t an animal, he tended to treat any and all problems with a sort of practical straightforward irritation that made it hard to feel uneasy around him. He supposed you did sometimes need an outsider’s perspective.

And he was _okay._ He remembered the Firbolg staring at him before he ran for help, normally stoic face filled with a roiling fury and burning terror that Fitzroy echoed in himself. He hadn’t seen him much after that, but he was _okay,_ and that meant Argo probably was too -

\- he let out a thick, shuddering breath.

The Firbolg frowned. He placed his huge hand back on Fitzroy’s shoulder, the size of it nearly too large to rest comfortably. But the weight was grounding, pulling more of Fitzroy away from that tearing dark place where his thoughts had wandered. It was still there, but he was more afloat now.

The Firbolg squeezed his shoulder. “Are you well?” he asked, in his deep, slow voice.

And he hadn’t _quite_ realized, before his magic had sang out and entered his mind, but he knew now that the Firbolg’s slow speech wasn’t because he _thought_ slow – quite the opposite, it had seemed. On the contrary it seemed like he had too many thoughts at once, all fighting to be heard, in at _least_ five distinct languages. It took effort to organize them all into coherent Common.

Fitzroy shuddered again, some more tension bleeding out into the night air. And if it had been anyone else maybe he would have tried to play it off, like he did when Higglemas asked why he wanted to become a Knight and when Argo accidentally dug his clawed fingers into old, old wounds ( _you don’t need to rub it in that_ your _mom cared enough to make you food),_ but he was tired, and this was the Firbolg, and he was -

\- “No,” he said, voice trembling. And then - “Is Argo – is Argo okay?”

The Firbolg tilted his head. For one wild moment Fitzroy was afraid that he’d been right, that Argo _was_ dead, that he was going to have to go the rest of his time through this fucking place never hearing that friendly lilt again – and when had he started to care this fiercely? - but then, the Firbolg spoke.

“He is…he is not well, but he is sleeping,” the Firbolg explained. “The healers could not restore him fully, their spells had to be...saved, for those further hurt. But he sleeps, now, and he will wake soon, and they said that I may try and heal him further. I will wait until he wakes, to make sure the spell goes well.”

“Oh...” Fitzroy swayed again, words stolen once more by the physical sense of relief that washed through him. “He’ll be okay?”

The Firbolg nodded. “He’ll be okay.”

“O...okay.” Fitzroy swayed. “Which -”

“Let us return inside,” the Firbolg interrupted.

“Okay, good, good idea,” Fitzroy stammered. Then he gave into the haze of panic and pain and exhaustion and alcohol buzzing at the back of his brain, and took the Firbolg’s hand and let himself be led. He followed the Firbolg through the gates and twisting hallways of the spa, barely registering speaking to the clerk at the front desk or the doors they walked through. It was like walking through a dream, much like the stumbling walk to the spa in the first place.

“Almost there,” the Firbolg rumbled, glancing back at him.

Fitzroy nodded. He would not remember much of this the next morning, but he would remember the soft weight of the Firbolg’s hand in his, and the smell of lemons that rose from all corners of this place.

And then they were at a door. Fitzroy swallowed, remembering the crash as the Devil’s chains came tearing through the tenth door, and glanced at the Firbolg. The Firbolg only looked at him. Fitzroy shook himself, and opened the door.

The room inside was quiet, the lamps turned down low. Fitzroy distantly registered plush carpets and fine wallpaper, the sort of thing he’d been expecting from Wiggenstaff’s. It all paled in comparison to the slim blue figure sitting on the couch, who glanced over with a strained but genuine smile when they stepped in.

“Hey,” Argo Keene said, voice hoarse but strong. “Have a nice walk?”

There were a thousand things that all offered themselves up for Fitzroy to say at that moment. _Of course_ and _I’m glad you’re alright_ and _I’m glad I got that kit to you in time_ and a thousand other things that would make him look cool or would let Argo know he’d been concerned without sounding too vulnerable, whatever.

He ruined them all by bursting into tears.

The next few minutes were never made clear again in his memory, but when the sudden fog faded the door was closed and he was sitting on the couch between Argo and the Firbolg. The Firbolg had a supportive hand on his back, and both of them were looking away, giving him whatever privacy he could to collect himself.

He let out a shaky gasp. “I’m sorry -”

“Don’t be,” Argo said instantly. He was leaning against the arm of the couch, bandages covering his arms and neck (there was one on his face too), looking exhausted and worn but alive, alive. “Have you ever had anything like this...happen, before?”

“Not...not really,” Fitzroy sniffed. “Knight school was more about swinging a sword,” he added with a weak laugh before something occurred to him. “Are you – have you?”

“Mmm,” Argo agreed, his normally cheery face solemn. “I think the first time I was...what, fifteen? My mother’s ship was attacked by Merrow.”

“Merrow…the weird mermaids?” Fitzroy hazarded. The Firbolg produced a reasonably clean cloth from the recesses of his cloak and offered it to Fitzroy. He wiped his red, tearstained face with it.

Argo nodded. “They tried to sink our ship – wanted to eat everyone on board and take everything we were carrying. I got a harpoon to the shoulder then.”

“Goodness,” Fitzroy said quietly. “Did..did everyone make it out alright?”

Argo smiled. “You never saw my mother as a captain. Of course they did – but it _was_ a near thing. I had nightmares about their teeth for months afterwards.”

“What...what made them stop?”

Argo shifted uncomfortably. “Eh...time, I think? And by the next time I met one I’d had more trainin’ - wasn’t just hiding, trying not to wet myself. It helped.”

“Aren’t you wet all the time, though?” Fitzroy’s mouth said without consulting his brain. Argo stared at him, blinking.

Shame welled up in Fitzroy’s chest. “Gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

He was cut off by the other two laughing. Argo snorted when he laughed, although he sounded a little more subdued then before. The Firbolg laughed silently, but Fitzroy felt his great chest shake behind him.

“That,” Argo told him, when he’d mastered himself, “was _awful._ Thank you.”

“I, um – you’re welcome,” Fitzroy stammered. People didn’t tend to say _thank you_ when he forgot to keep control of his mouth. People didn’t tend to want him around, after that.

“What Argo was saying,” the Firbolg interrupted, and Fitzroy turned to look at his great, round face with his cow-like ears and mass of wild pink hair, “was that it is fine, for you to cry and be scared. It is not shame to fear. It is not shame.”

Argo nodded. “I’m used to stuff like this, is what I mean. You’re not. it’s okay. And it’s not _...”_

A shadow passed over his face.

“Well. It wasn’t like I wasn’t afraid, too.”

Shame welled up in Fitzroy’s chest for a different reason. “I – I’m sorry,” he said again. “You’re the one who’s hurt, I shouldn’t -”

“Fitz, it’s -” Argo sighed, and leaned his head back against the couch. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “It’s over.”

“I’ll – I’ll keep this from happening again,” Fitzroy said, that tearing dark wildness rearing its head again. “Both of you, I won’t let -”

“How?” the Firbolg asked. His eyes were dark, as he watched Fitzroy. “Would you keep us in our dorm all day? Teleport us away from fights? I know spells too. Might be harder than you think.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Fitz,” Argo said tiredly.

“But -” Fitzroy swiped at his eyes again, shoving his fake glasses frames in the pocket of one coat. “What do I do, then?” he asked, hating the helpless note in his voice. “What do I _do?”_

“What do you do?” Argo repeated, looking Fitzroy in the eye. He gave Fitzroy another exhausted smile. “You be there, is all. Like...like we’ll be there for you.”

“Not as sidekicks,” the Firbolg rumbled. “As friends, yes?”

And Fitzroy, who had in all the decades he’d been alive so far, never had someone name him their friend and really mean it, swallowed back a sob.

“As friends,” he replied, weakly. “As friends.”

The Firbolg reached and wrapped a large arm around Fitzroy, pulling him into his chest. He was soft, and smelled of mosses and lichens and green, growing things. Despite Fitzroy’s aversion to dirt, and the last time he was hugged probably being twenty or more years ago, it was not at all unpleasant. He wrapped his arms as best he could around the Firbolg’s shoulders and hugged back.

“Hey, don’t leave me out of this,” Argo protested. Fitzroy detached himself from the Firbolg and turned back to Argo. Argo whose chest was covered in bandages...Fitzroy frowned. Then leaning over Argo, he reached for the sailor’s hands and threaded his fingers with Argo’s, giving him a squeeze.

Argo smiled. “That’s better.”

Fitzroy laughed. He felt...scoured, somehow, like there were spaces in him that had been filled with...muck and grime and cobwebs, that he’d finally cleared out. Then he remembered why he’d been in such a daze in the first place, and his face fell. “I need to tell you guys something.”

“Will it keep till tomorrow?” the Firbolg asked. “We are all...we have need of rest.”

Fitzroy was going to protest, but a look at the eyes of his companions saw the folly of it. They were _tired –_ and so was he, clean through with it. Even if he told them now, nothing would be able to come of it. And by the papers they’d been given, they had an extra free day in this place. Plenty of time to tell them…

...before they returned to the school with a Gary in every dorm room…

Fitzroy swallowed. “Tomorrow. Sure.”

Argo yawned, eyes bleary. “Can…do you guys all want to stay in separate rooms, or...” he shrunk at the glances they gave him. “I just – I just don’t want to be alone,” he admitted, his voice small. For a moment, Fitzroy saw fear on his face, lines on his face worn deep with stress and exhaustion. 

Fitzroy spared a thought for the weeks he’d spent wishing for his own room for just a night, and decided for just a night he’d damn it all to Hell. “You know what? Me neither," he said, voice soft. “I’m fine with staying together.”

“I am as well,” the Firbolg nodded. “Here.” He rose from the couch and moved to Argo’s side. Gently, gently, as if he was picking up a baby bird, he slid one arm underneath the curve of Argo’s knees and another behind the small of his back, lifting him with no apparent difficulty.

“This for how you gave me that medicine before, yes?” he told Argo. Argo, who had flushed a violent (although not unhappy) shade of teal at the treatment, barked out a laugh.

“Oh, that’s how it is, is it?”

“Indeed,” the Firbolg nodded, before looking at the wider room. “Which room?”

Argo pointed. “’S where I was. Biggest bed.”

“I’ll get the door,” said Fitzroy, whose face was now a vivid red for a completely different reason and desperate for a distraction.

The room inside was dark and warmly lit, turning it into a chiaroscuro of light and shadow. There was indeed a huge bed in the middle of the room, big enough for the Firbolg even, the blankets already messy from where Argo had been lying there.

Fitzroy, before he could lose his nerve, kicked off his boots and hopped on the bed. Argo wriggled until the Firbolg put him down, gingerly crawling onto the bed next to him.

"You still okay with this?" he asked, laying down slowly, trying not to jostle aching muscles. "It's okay if you're not."

Fitzroy blinked. "You know, I am? I just - I don't know what the etiquette is -"

Argo smiled, full of warmth and a hint of teasing. "Here, lie down."

"Excuse me," the Firbolg said. He'd removed his boots and his outer cloak, and undid some of the braids in his hair. This did absolutely nothing to make him look like a smaller man. "I shall lay down as well?"

"Of course, of course - here -"

The next few minutes were a bit chaotic, as three adult men of wildly varying sizes tried to arrange themselves to satisfaction on a bed that while large, was still having its limits stretched to try and contain all of them at once. There was a certain degree of elbowing, although care was taken to not exacerbate Argo's wounds. What eventually came to be was that the Firbolg lay on the left side of the bed, curled around the other two; Argo lay in the middle, looking much more at ease now that he wasn't alone. Fitzroy for his part had the least amount of person touching him, although Argo's body was warm against his and he smelled - like salt, Fitzroy realized, not like seaweed which he'd always associated as the smell of the sea.

Like the sea far from land.

"You are okay?" The Firbolg rumbled. His arm stretched over Argo and a hand was laid on Fitzroy's side.

"Mmm," Argo hummed. His eyes were half-closed already.

"Just so you know, this is probably a one-time thing," Fitzroy said.

"Fine," Argo shrugged, and winced at the movement. "You can go if you want to."

"No, I just...nevermind," Fitzroy huffed. He hesitated, before carefully laying his arm over Argo. Argo didn't flinch, so he counted it a success.

"It's just - Argo?" 

A light snoring rose from the ex-captain. 

The Firbolg huffed with quiet amusement. "Well?" He asked Fitzroy. "Sleep?"

"I..." All at once, Fitzroy felt the day's weariness pour in. His body ached, his head was stuffed with cotton. Some things matter more than awkwardness.

He brushed some of Argo's hair out of his mouth. The thought, _your blood was on my hands,_ echoed and faded away. He knew he would have to address them come morning, but for not all concerns seemed far away.

"Goodnight," he thought he mumbled, before darkness crept in like a cat.

\----

When he awoke, it was warm, and there was light.

**Author's Note:**

> Fitzroy, without even consciously realizing it: I place all my trust in these two and assume they're always going to be a safe port for me
> 
> Me, who knows Argo's in a secret society and the Firbolg's already mindcontrolled too: 😬😬😬
> 
> Also when I was finishing up I wanted to sleep and that's why it ends how it does


End file.
